


Know Thyself, Completely

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character of Color, Episode: s02e10 Magnum Opus, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Abbie had only known Ichabod Crane for a little over a year, but over the course of that year he'd made himself a fundamental part of who she'd become ... which, given the prophecy at hand, could potentially be a problem.





	Know Thyself, Completely

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).

> Written as a treat in HetSwap. Because I will always want fix-its for Ichabod and Abbie, too; and because you listed "ethical polyamory" as a like, and it gave me a sudden idea of how to diverge Season 2 in their favor without either erasing Katrina or leaving her to her unhappy canon fate. I hope you enjoy!

It had been a long day, waiting for darkness to fall so the Headless Horseman could clear the way to the Sword of Methuselah. Some days, Abbie thought she had a pretty good grasp on this destiny thing – the fate as Witness to the Biblical Apocalypse that had apparently been stalking her family for centuries – but then something like _this_ would happen, and it threw her for a loop all over again.

A sword that could kill anything, buried in New York centuries ago by the Templars. Guarded by a creature that could turn people to stone with its gaze, including one of her own ancestors. Brought into her dreams, days ago, by the ghost of her own mother, who'd apparently known Abbie was going to be a Witness since she was a child. At this point, she'd hardly be surprised – angry, but not surprised – if it turned out her dad had left them because of something to do with all of this, as well.

_Know thyself_, the sword prophecy said: _know thyself completely, or perish when you attempt to see_. Hopefully, 'thyself' didn't extend that far, though, because she had exactly zero inclination to chase that thread of personal history right now. She had enough to do putting in a few hours at her day job to satisfy Sherriff Reyes, not to mention prepping for their next trip into the Gorgon's basement, without trying to track down someone whose part in her life had been far more an absence than a presence.

Unlike a certain ex-Revolutionary War soldier, who'd sent her an overly formal text message asking her to return a few hours before the meeting time they'd previously agreed on. Abbie had only known Ichabod Crane for a little over a year, but over the course of that year he'd made himself a fundamental part of who she'd become ... which, given the prophecy at hand, could potentially be a problem.

Up until their first visit to Purgatory, he'd poured almost everything he was into their partnership, and cut adrift from both her mentor and the life she'd been preparing for in the FBI, she'd done the same. But ever since they'd fulfilled the _last_ prophecy to cross their paths – since he'd left her in Moloch's grasp in order to save a wife who'd been dead for more than two hundred years – their previously excellent communication skills had begun to break down, and that worried her.

But was there really some great mystery why? No point denying it, if she was supposed to be honest with herself. There was a reason she'd never seriously thought about getting back together with Luke, despite the fact that her official excuse for breaking up with him had been rendered moot when she'd ended up staying in town. Luke had been – she hated to say it, but it was true – _safe_. They'd had a fun, warm relationship, but she'd never even felt tempted to share the difficult parts of her past with him, much less been willing to sacrifice her soul on his behalf. 

Crane, though ... from the first time he'd looked at her like the sun rose in her eyes and told her that their fates were entwined, some part of her had known that he was her future. She hadn't needed any historic Bible to tell her that. Maybe it should have discouraged her that he didn't – couldn't – feel exactly the same way she did. But this was about her, not him. And she was done lying to herself on that score.

She'd given her soul for Katrina's because she loved _him_, not because it was the right thing to do, or because she hoped for any return. She'd tried to pull back enough to protect herself afterward, claiming that Purgatory had shown her that he was her weakness, because she knew that pining after him would do her no good. It wasn't that she didn't think he cared; hell, he'd willingly bared his chest in front of the Horseman that morning to draw Death's avatar away from her, with only the promise of dawn's imminent arrival to protect him. But romantic love? However weirdly close their friendship might get sometimes, when he spoke of love, it was always Katrina's.

That was the truth. And whether or not it ever made any difference – she was pretty sure it would go on being true, no matter how long she walked the Earth at his side.

Abbie sighed, then glanced up again to check the angle of the sun, and felt a jolt of tangled emotion as she caught sight of Ichabod approaching through the ruins. His ridiculous dated clothes, his ridiculous dated hair, the way the evening sunshine limned his profile with gold – if Sheriff Corbin had told her last year that one day she'd willingly go into a Gorgon's lair with only a Revolutionary War cosplayer at her side, she'd have called him a madman. But there they were.

Though to be fair, there were a lot of things she'd have called Corbin a madman for that were her bread and butter, now. God, she wished so much she'd had a chance to talk to him about all this while he was still alive. At least he'd saved her sister; however rough their relationship still sometimes was, Abbie was so grateful to have Jenny back in her life.

"Crane," she greeted him, rising from her seat on the rough brick framing the catacombs' entrance. "What's so urgent? I thought we agreed to meet at nightfall."

The light had been behind him as he approached; it wasn't until he was close enough to really see his face that she realized how uncertain he looked. "We did, indeed," he agreed. "And yet, as I contemplated spending the hours making torches from my socks and new pine pitch ... something occurred to me that I had not considered before."

Abbie frowned, thinking back over everything that had happened since they'd found the map reference in Grace's journal, tied it to the old political cartoon, and followed X marks the spot to these ruins. Pretty standard esoteric deduction stuff, as their adventures went, right down to the magical contact from his wife, interference by the Horseman of Death, and the leaps of tangential logic that had led them to the clues they needed to move forward. The only thing different, really, was the scope of the stakes at hand. "Something's gone wrong?"

"Not exactly," he said, linking his hands behind his back with a hesitant expression. "At least ... not in the way you mean."

"Then what do you mean?" she replied. This wasn't the time for indecision. With the Horseman already involved, the last thing they needed was some other eighteenth-century complication interrupting the proceedings. They only had a day or two left to stop Moloch before he rose.

"When we discussed the prophecy earlier," Crane answered slowly, as though feeling his way through the words. "I spoke of Abraham's influence on my life; and of Katrina's; and asked how I could know myself when at every turn, my life had been determined by others."

She made a noise of assent, not trusting herself to words.

"But it occurred to me, after you departed, that my angle of thought had been based upon a perhaps faulty assumption," he continued. "That it was about my journey to the sword passing through Abraham. But if his appearance at that moment had been due to something more than chance...."

Abbie's eyes widened; okay, so this _was_ important. "Those were all things you knew about yourself already," she realized. "Why you came to America. How Katrina got involved with you. What broke your friendship and put you on this path. But if that wasn't what you needed to ask yourself – then what was?"

Crane looked away, glancing toward the Ouroboros plate that covered the hidden stairwell. Weirdly enough, his cheeks had gone a little pink at the question. "I considered the fact that he may have been ... sent. And then I thought about how he might have known. And I remembered something that I had said to you, yesterday."

He looked back up, then, blue eyes gone darker than usual as he met her gaze. "About a particularly potent distraction."

Abbie's brow furrowed; then her breath caught at the implication. They'd been playing a guessing game on their phones to take a break from working on their latest puzzle. Then Katrina had called, using a mirror in the library, and in its aftermath, he'd finally made a leap of deduction. He'd said she made a better distraction than the game, and then forged ahead as usual. But it sounded like he meant something more serious, now.

"Katrina," she said. "You think...?"

In all the time Abbie had known Ichabod Crane, he'd professed himself completely devoted to his wife. No matter whether she was a ghost, a revenant, or a willing prisoner of Moloch's Horsemen. No matter what secrets she kept, or choices she made, and how they affected him; no matter what choices _he_ seemed perfectly comfortable making in her absence, binding himself to Abbie's side. 

It was enough to confuse any woman. But it had never seemed to trip him up for more than a moment, or even give Katrina herself pause. Hell, she'd even dragged Abbie deliberately into the relationship between she and Ichabod more than once. Surely Ichabod didn't mean he thought Katrina had betrayed them? Not when they were finally on the trail of a weapon that could stop Moloch.

"Not as such," he replied, shaking his head. "It simply occurred to me to wonder whether she had thought it wise, for some reason she had not been able to convey, to send Abraham to delay our quest. So I took a hand-mirror from the cabin and rode to Fredericks Manor, thinking I could perhaps get her attention from a window when Henry was not at her side and initiate another conversation."

Abbie could see just from his tense stance that whatever had happened there, it hadn't gone the way he'd expected. But not badly, either; he seemed about to vibrate out of his skin with nervous energy, but not distraught. She reached out unthinkingly, setting a hand on his arm. "So what happened?"

Ichabod stilled at her touch; then his expression warmed, and he unclenched his arms from behind his back, turning the one she'd been gripping over until their hands were palm to palm. "She said she had not; but also that I was overlooking something rather significant in my interpretation of the prophecy."

Standing there, looking up into his face as the fading light filtered through the trees, fingers clasped together ... if it was anyone else, Abbie realized, she would have made some pretty serious assumptions just from his body language. Was Fate monkey's pawing her again here, teasing her emotions before sticking her back in the friendzone? A potent distraction, indeed.

"What are you saying, Ichabod?" she asked, heart in her throat. What had Katrina told him?

"That she had perceived a truth that I had been trying not to, for quite some time. I _have_ moved on, since I have awakened in this century, despite my best efforts. How could I do otherwise, with such a woman at my side? But ... that does not necessarily mean I must betray her. If I am willing to allow her the same room to extend her own heart."

He swallowed, then tipped his chin up and spoke more firmly: "I said once that I chose to forge my fate with you, Abbie. And in full knowledge of the situation at hand, even at the risk that we all perish tomorrow, even if you do not feel the same ... I would make that same choice again, in every way. It is through your eyes, I have come to realize, that I see myself most clearly."

Abbie felt as if her whole body had flushed with warmth under his intent gaze; she felt dizzy, too, as she processed the whole unbelievable truth. Katrina had told him she was willing to share him! Provided he would share _her_ with her undead ex-fiancé. After which ... he had come immediately _here_.

The entire situation was just – insane. Like some bad joke Hawley might tell: _a witch, a zombie, a time traveler, and a police officer walk into the woods._ How was she supposed to respond to that?

The longer she paused before answering, the more uncertain Crane's expression got – and suddenly, remembering her own realizations while she'd been waiting for him, Abbie knew exactly what to say.

"I was thinking to myself before you got here, about what knowing yourself really means when someone else is as much a part of you as you are of them. Great minds think alike, huh?"

It was his turn to catch his breath; his eyes widened, and his hand trembled in her grasp. "Do you mean to say...."

"Remind me to thank her sometime," she added, cutting whatever long-worded ramble he was about to begin off at the root, then stretched up toward him on tip-toe.

He took the hint with admirable speed, one arm dipping down around her waist to lift her closer as he lowered his mouth to meet hers. The uncertainty and doubt that plagued her all day, the fear that had gripped her ever since she'd seen her ancestor's stone-struck form and wondered if it was her turn to become a footnote in someone else's story, evaporated like mist as her world realigned. And the fact that it felt more like something was being _restored_ rather than lifted to a new level – yeah, she probably should have admitted what was going on long before Purgatory.

But then, if she had, they might not be here now. And whatever else happened – she would never regret this moment.

It was several minutes later – and an age; and no time at all – before the angle of the sinking sun caught her eye again, and she abruptly remembered why they were there, in particular.

"Sunset's almost here," Abbie said, as she reluctantly pulled away. "You think Katrina had time to talk to Abraham, too? She's always been the way to his loyalty – that's how Moloch got him, and how Henry's kept him. Whether he gets with the program or not, we can probably pull this off, either way – but if he helps us willingly, for her sake, it'll go a whole lot easier."

"I suppose we shall see," Ichabod replied, lifting her hand for a kiss before moving to hide behind a crumbling wall. "But whatever happens – we shall see it through together."

"Promises, promises," she replied, with a warm smile.

Then she tucked herself behind another half-fallen archway, and settled in to wait, feeling more completely herself than she had at any other point since her childhood.

She had no doubts any more. This was where she was meant to be.


End file.
